


Alone

by Anonymous



Category: Generator Rex
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Male Solo, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 12:42:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13146945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Knight remembers what being outside was like. Solitude means getting used to your own hand.





	Alone

Of course the feeling of need was not foreign to him, but with life changes came adjustments and so it was the accommodation of _new_ needs which were not familiar to Knight. He knew arousal and lust, but always had the option of inviting some pretty thing from a bar over to a motel to satisfy himself. He was unaccustomed to sexual _frustration._

 

Since he’d become the first nanite-free man on Earth, there were a lot of things he had to learn to get used to. Constant solitude for one.

The first days being surrounded by nothing but white walls (and _his hair, white as goddamn snow)_ weren’t anything to him. It was sterilized and clean, something he almost preferred to the outside, and although he had never had a problem socializing, the solitude made it easier to think. Cleanliness had been a habit of his, developed after years of spilling blood over his fingers, clothing. It was a nice transition for a time. But then days became weeks, bleeding into _months..._

At night he lay awake, feeling very cold.

So he had to get used to the constant solitude. No physical contact with people also meant no more quick side fucks. He wasn’t old, had just turned 33 when the accident (cure?) happened, and he was a healthy (very healthy-- more so than the rest of the population) man with a normal libido. Needless to say, he had urges but those were problems solved with a few quick jerks of his hand.

The real problem rested in the direction his thoughts took when he was getting off. Even with the wealth of experience he had to draw from, his mind always wandered back to the same ~~person~~ setting without fail. Heart pounding, adrenaline filled battlegrounds and assassination missions.

(Both of which centered around _someone_ \-- someone who’d accompanied him to all those battlegrounds and someone he’d formerly been hired to assassinate, but _that_ was the problem.)

 

Tonight was one of those nights.

 

The newest mission reports were in, delivered to him virtually via a monitor. Knight had happened upon a specific one, his finger hesitating on the scroll button as it dredged up memories muddled in nostalgia. It was Six's since he had just returned from a case. The man had detailed a complication which had lead to a fight. And then they came. Memories of fire and dust, the sounds of chaos, mass panic. _But also the scent of cleanliness pressed so close to him in brief moments where his body collided with his partner’s--_

 

Because it was battle and not anything else.

 

\-- _that whiff of fresh soap, cedar, musk and pain that followed because anytime he and Six were that close it was not out of gentleness._

 

Knight grunted, grinding his teeth in irritation as he was suddenly acutely aware of the slow burn of simmering arousal.

_Why did it always come back to him?_

He turned in his chair, away from the monitor and shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was always him, and it was pointless to try and pretend that his pointed lust for Six was that for battle. Locked in alone, there was nobody he could lie or pretend  to in solitude. He couldn’t fool himself.

His eyes softened with self-loathing as he unbuckled his belt and pulled himself free, refusing to even look down at his erection, standing at half mast. Swallowing down the shame he kept his eyes to the ceiling, lazily moving his hand up along the shaft, back and forth. Knight’s mind wandered  back to Six’s crisp smell, a memory which would fade with time. His eyes shut tighter.

Moving his fist more roughly, he quickened the speed of his hand until it burned and he hissed given that he wasn’t using lubrication. But lube wasn’t something he regularly had access to and he wasn’t going to ask for hand lotion every time he drained a bottle. While he wanted it rough the dryness didn’t make it good.

He paused, sighing in resignation before spitting into his open palm and starting again.

 _This_ time it was good...

“Fuck…” He whispered to the sense of wrongness he felt in this act, to the sweat and blood that once stung his eyes and mouth, to the slap of skin in traded blows between he and Six in sparring sessions.  He shuddered and gripped tighter, thumbing at the sensitive head. Tingles of pleasure jolted through him, “ _Fuck.”_

Because there had been only one thing better than sex--

“Six…” He groaned low in his throat, and he was coming, spilling his seed into his hand.

 

He sat there regaining his composure, breathing evening out.

  
He was still alone.  

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas <3


End file.
